


Sentimental Symphony

by Gloriousred



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e01 A Scandal in Belgravia, F/M, Mentioned John Watson, Mentioned Mycroft Holmes, POV First Person, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock's Mind Palace, Sherlock-centric, Violinist Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 13:51:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7535266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gloriousred/pseuds/Gloriousred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's an acute pain, that which I feel, indescribable, indecipherable, a mystery entirely in itself. Don't get me wrong, I am fascinated by mysteries, more so, addicted. They are my life. They are my job. Thanks to them I live like I do. Still, they sometimes manage to puzzle me, not the whole picture, just the parts, the separate, rather important, details. Those are the ones that I rarely find myself unable to comprehend. "Why?" is often a good place to start. Sadly, a simple "because" is never the place to end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sentimental Symphony

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was the very first I ever wrote for the Sherlock Fandom. It is insanely dear to my heart, especially because of the way it captures Sherlock's longing. Nothing is quite as fantastic as a sulking Sherlock playing the violin... 
> 
> Finally got the courage to post it knowing it is Benedict's birthday. I wrote it thinking of him... so, it is only fitting to present it as my present.

It's an acute pain, that which I feel, indescribable, indecipherable, a mystery entirely in itself. Don't get me wrong, I am fascinated by mysteries, more so, addicted. They are my life. They are my job. Thanks to them I live like I do. Still, they sometimes manage to puzzle me, not the whole picture, just the parts, the separate, rather important, details. Those are the ones that I rarely find myself unable to comprehend. "Why?" is often a good place to start. Sadly, a simple "because" is never the place to end.

The violin plays as I move my arm with the bow and my fingers on the strings. The sound that is produced is painfully acute. Sensible, light. So interesting that a sentiment so strong is expressed in such a soft way. The music is breathtaking. The music is sad. Like a love ballad, intense. Yet, I compose. I can't afford to keep it within me. Just like it was her downfall it would be mine. Sentiment is not something to play around with. It makes you weak. It makes you like the music I express, sensible, light. Though, that might be good, only for a moment to express what lies trapped in your heart. It makes you feel... indescribably, indecipherably. It's highly confounding.

The control of my arm is not my body's; it's my mind's, my Mind Palace to be precise. I am here, yet I am not. I'm there. The sound I express is like my heartbeat, it's accelerated, exacerbated, my breaths, fast and short. As I walk towards her and I hold her hand, I call her bluff as she protests that she doesn't feel anything. The chemistry is, in fact, so strong that someone as unperceptive as Watson can tell. The atmosphere is tight as our hands meet. I initiated the contact, but I'm not sure if I can break it. The violin plays in the background. And somehow, distinctly, I hear a piano. A couple soft notes in the equivalent key. They sound... sensible, light. It comes as no surprise that they mix together so well. They play on their own and still make a convoluted mixture of sounds. The music playing in our heads is... indescribable, indecipherable.

Our hands touch, her back against the table. Our eyes meet. I move closer as the music reaches a climax. The violin plays louder. I brush past her lips and towards her ear. Sentiment is truly a dangerous thing. I know she feels the static in the air. I know she notices how she can't breathe. Earlier she proved to me that she was capable of describing things, deciphering mysteries. She can solve this one about herself only with my help, just like I can only solve my mystery with her. I hold her wrist. I look her in the eyes. I'm close enough to feel her breaths. She claims she feels nothing. I feel her accelerated pulse, her dilated pupils, her unsteady breathing. She can feel, but she can't accept. She's contaminated by sentiment.

As I move away from her ear, I look at her eyes. The violin ceases to play. The piano plays on its own as my attention shifts from our entwined hands. I type on the phone singlehandedly with my left hand the password that had been eluding me for far too long. The screen displays my last attempt at the password: I AM — — — — LOCKED.

My resolve is to finish the game. To help her solve her mystery as I did earlier with the code she showed me. I told her I could solve any code. I just did. She solved it for me. I turn my eyes from her royal blue orbs and instead look at the phone.

I AM S H E R LOCKED.

The piano plays a couple melancholy notes before stopping abruptly as I raise my eyes to meet her incredulous gaze. When her eyes meet the screen, her countenance loses color. Her red lips only become a darker shade. The room goes silent. The piano and violin are mute. The music stops for a brief pair of seconds, as does her heart and my breathing. She has no option but to accept. I am proven right. She had indeed given me the password. To her safe. To her phone. To her heart. She lifts her eyes from the screen and stares directly at my head. I feel her eyes burning my skull. When I look up from the phone I am lost in the deep blue of her irises. They reflect the truest expression I have ever seen on The Woman's features. Suddenly, under my gaze, she becomes Irene Adler. And her eyes tell me my assumptions don't lie.

Although slightly bizarre, the realization doesn't surprise me. Something ignites within me even at the memory. Our eyes are locked onto each other, just like our hands can't seem to let go. The violin resumes its satin melody as I once again approach her delicate face. The violin plays softly and a couple notes escape the piano. High, sharp cheekbones, just like mine. Small nose, plumb lips. Dark, ebony hair. Sapphire jewels for eyes. I reach her right cheek once again, brushing my lips against the pale surface carefully. Then, in the same manner as she had done when I solved her code, I rewarded her. My lips meet her right cheek for only an instant as long as the interlude. Just then the music soared, both instruments playing their crescendo, my body against hers on a circuit as our separate skins lie connected by the touch of my hand on her wrist, the feeling indescribable, indecipherable.

When the moment is over, I move away and loosen my grip on her hand, the piano playing fleeting notes as soft as a cloud, sensible, light. That's when I hear her heartbeat marking the tempo for the piano for the first time, my breaths marking the lengths of the notes of the violin. A symphony indeed, the perfect duet with the two most melodious instruments. Suddenly, a crystal tear begins its trek down Irene's cheek. It falls as her lips part slightly. She looks at me with such complex emotion. Those two oceans of the deepest blue express the most sorrow I have ever seen, pain only equal to my own. I can almost hear her heart breaking. To this day I'm sure nobody has caused Ms. Adler more pain than me. The tear slides as gracefully as a ballerina extends her leg to an elevated position above her head.

The violin makes its final comeback as I take my hand from hers. Contact persists as she continues to hold it, still allowing me to slide it away. Another tear rolls as I hand the unlocked phone to my brother. Mycroft immediately begins rummaging through the device as I finalize contact with Irene. I walk away without a second look at those eyes, those eyes so filled with sorrow, so filled with intensity and sentiment that it becomes almost tangible. I can't take it anymore so I walk away, leaving the piano to play its last painful notes.

From my usual place before the window I reminisce on that night while playing my violin. The sound expresses the sentiment my body never expressed, my mind never understood, and my soul wished to convey. I think of Irene often, yet specifically of the first time I actually met her. That was then, defeated, with her unlocked phone within my reach. That night I felt a new weight on my hands. I was carrying a phone, yes, but also someone's heart. Never had I felt such a deep connection to another human being. I probably never will again. Thinking of that night helps me accept and condense my sentiment, make it into strength, not weakness. Playing my instrument takes me back to that moment in time, and I find my mind at peace whenever I see her again. The pain is soothed as I take her hand feeling her pulse, hearing her heart, watching her pupils expand, sharing her air. Everything is sensible, light.

Her piano plays with me from her room in my Mind Palace. My long strokes on the violin entwine with her harmony in the same way our destinies are bound together. There in the Palace she plays beside me, and our eyes once again meet. Nowhere in this world is better than that place where our hearts beat at the same time. I dread the end of our ballad, because once it is over I return to a world where she is not there. I finish the piece with a kiss on my cheek and my eyes open. I feel indescribably, indecipherably... alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the piece while listening to Irene's Theme (the song playing during the whole 'I Am Sherlocked' scene). The purpose was to incorporate a bit of the rhythm and characteristics of the song into the piece. In the end it seems like the song shaped the whole tone...


End file.
